


Save My Unicorn!

by TheManedRedFox



Category: Deadpool (2016), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst and Feels, Bad Deadpool, Badass Peter, Badass wade, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crude jokes, Eventual Romance, Fights, Fire, Fluff, Good Deadpool, Homelessness, Humor, Hurt Peter, Hurt Wade, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter saves Wade, Protective Peter Parker, Secrets, Slow Burn, Starving Wade, Swearing, Unicorns, Wade Saves Peter, hunted wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 02:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10935111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManedRedFox/pseuds/TheManedRedFox
Summary: Spider-Man could handle the endless pressures and deadlines of Grad school, the mounting student debts, unsuccessful attempts at an adult relationship, working two jobs, and fighting crime on a nightly basis. He could handle it. . .until he couldn't anymore. When Peter gets in over his head, Deadpool gladly steps in to save the day but not without bringing his own laundry list of trouble along with him.Or Spider-Man meets Deadpool one dark and rainy night. . .let the shit show begin!





	1. Just a Little Maimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Die hard Deadpool's will already know this but he really was taken down by a bunch of kittens.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3uSNDuCdG0  
> Check it out if you don't believe me.

The night had started out typically enough. Peter Parker came home to his apartment, ate whatever left-over take out was still in the fridge, and donned his Spider-Man outfit for his nightly patrol. 

Perhaps, it wasn't exactly like every other night. Peter was more tired than usual, but that was hardly surprising with finals week just rapping up and Peter working a double shifts at the college bookstore before heading over to the Daily Bugle, all in an effort to to make ends meet. Yet, exhaustion was nothing new to Peter. 

He could handle it.

He stifled a yawn as he pulled his blue and red spandex up over his thighs, waist, and finally his shoulders. He to chugged an extra Red Bull to keep his eyes open before putting on his mask and climbing out the window. 

He could handle it. He could handle it . . . until the moment he couldn’t. 

It turned out that ‘moment’ occurred at exactly 12:48 a.m. when a led pipe connected with the back of his skull. 

Peter’s head exploded with pain and a dazzling array of stars showered across his vision before all went black. The next thing he remembered was someone squeezing his shoulder and saying, in a voice he did not recognize, “Spidey? Spidey? Earth to Spidey. You there Web-Head?"

Peter blinked several times before his vision began to clear. The image of a figure dressed head to toe in red and black swam into sight before coming into sharper focus. Peter eyed the stranger suspiciously for a moment. He wasn't sure his muddled brain wasn't playing tricks on him because what he saw didn't make sense. It was too bizarre. The stranger wore a custom similar to his own, except for the color schemes. He had swords and guns strapped to his body. He was tall, imposing, and muscular. 

“Oh, good. I thought you died for a second there.” The strange figure pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead in a exaggerated vaudeville-style expression of relief. 

“Who are you?” Peter slurred. It felt like his mouth was packed with cotton. 

“Name's Deadpool,” The man said enthusiastically. He extended a hand for Peter to shake. 

“I’ve never heard of you,” Peter ignored the extended hand and instead used his hands to push himself up.

“Mercenary? Killer for higher? Weapon-X? Merc with a Mouth?" Deadpool listed off in rapid session, "Any of these names ringing a bell?” 

Peter shook his head but quickly stopped when a new wave of pain struck him. 

“Really? I thought maybe you had." Deadpool sighed heavily. He let his hand fall limply to his side. He looked deeply disappointed. Peter was about to apologize for obviously hurting the guy's feelings but Deadpool had already returned to his previous hyperactive state before Peter had even opened up his mouth. Deadpool clapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee. “Oh well. I’ve heard about you though. Big fan by the way. Could you sign my unicorn?” 

Deadpool simultaneously pulled out a black sharpie and a unicorn plushy out of what seemed like thin air. He pressed the items into Peter’s hands and stared expectantly at him. Peter looked from Deadpool to the unicorn and marker, then back up at Deadpool. 

This was all too much to take in. His head was still spinning from the blow from the led pip earlier and Deadpool was not making it any easier to get his barrings. 

“Wait, I need a second.” Peter implored, leaning his back against the wall. 

“Yeah, of course. You did take a pretty good hit to the head. That sure will be a shiner tomorrow. Take all the time you need." Deadpool apologized. He took the unicorn and marker back from Peter. Peter blinked and the items were gone. Either he had a terrible concussion or Deadpool was so fast that he couldn't see his movements. Neither of these thoughts were comforting to Peter; anyway he looked at it, he was vulnerable. Deadpool started whistling absentmindedly. He glancing around the alley with the interest of someone who had never seen one before. 

Peter could make a break for it but he quickly discarded that idea. Peter's mind still felt sluggish and Deadpool was swift, bad combo. He didn't think he would make it very far before Deadpool caught him. No, it would be better to keep the guy distracted till Peter could think straight. Those guns, swords, and thick muscles were all making Peter very nervous. Deadpool looked like he could snap Peter in half if he really wanted to. 'If he wanted to kill you he would have done it when you were unconscious,' Peter tried to reason with himself. 

"What happened?" Peter asked, hoping his discomfort with his own weakness wasn't obvious. Deadpool was just inspecting a rather large pile of trash. “I was passing by when I saw you taking on a gang of street thugs. You must have been so preoccupied with the safety of the young women they were harassing, because one of them got the jump on you.” Deadpool explained.

Now Peter remembered. He had been swinging by when he had seen a group of men chasing a women down this alley; but that’s where his memory ended.

“Where is she?” Peter quickly searching for any sign of her. “Is she hurt?”

“Relax, hero. She ran off as soon as you went down. The gang was so excited that they took you down that they didn’t seem to notice her slip away.” Deadpool soothed. 

Peter sighed a sigh of relief, then his shoulders slumped. "I was taking out by a single thug. That's embarrassing. My ego could have handled someone like Sandman, or Rhino but one normal guy. . ." Peter groaned. 

Deadpool shrugged, "We all have off nights. I was once beaten by a bunch of pussy-." 

"Deadpool!" Peter warned. 

"Pussy-Pussycats." Deadpool finished. "What?" Deadpool cocked his head to one side in confusion then it suddenly donned on him, "Oh, I see what you thought I was going to say." Deadpool laughed until his clutched at his sides. "Wow, I could have phrased that differently. It's not a sexual euphemism, I promise, just a bunch a actual cats." 

“Okay. . ." Peter ran a hand over his face, "and then what happened?” He asked.

"Well, there were so cuddly and cute!" Deadpool gushed. "I named them, Fluffy, CiCi, Checkers, Wolfgang, Fred-"

"I meant with the women," Peter rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, cat story another time. Well, you were down for the count, so I stepped in.”

The words ‘killer’ and 'mercenary' echoed in Peter’s foggy brain. Peter gulped audibly. “You didn’t kill anyone did you?” 

Deadpool fell silent. “Define kill?” 

“What did you do?” Peter demanded, his heart pounded again his ribs.

“I'm only joking.” Deadpool threw his head back and laughed heartily for several long minutes; when he finally stopped he looked at Peter and with a suddenly sober expression, “Look, your reputation proceeds you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Peter asked confused. 

“I mean, I know all about your ‘no kill policy.’ Which I think is a silly policy, just F.Y.I. but New York is your house so I respected it. I only maimed them a little.” 

“Maimed?” Peter repeated dumbfound.

“A little.” Deadpool reiterated. “They were all able to limp away. See, I respect your rules.” 

Anger started in Peter’s toes and boiled right up to his head. All of his earlier apprehension faded away. He was not longer weary of Deadpool, he was furious with him. “That’s not how I do things in my city.” Peter snarled.

“But Spidey, their wounds probably won’t leave any permanent damages . . . probably“

“That's not the point! I want you out of here.” Peter prodded Deadpool so hard in the chest that Deadpool actually stumbled backwards a couple of steps. “I never want to see you walking around my streets again or there will be Hell to pay.” And with that Peter shot a web onto the adjacent building and swung away.

“Does this mean you aren’t going to sign my unicorn?” Deadpool yelled after him crestfallen. “And by the way, you’re welcome for saving your life,” He muttered under his breath.


	2. Chinese Take Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's takes pity on Deadpool. Chapter ends with fire and blood.

The next time Peter saw Deadpool it was weeks later. He was swinging along, minding his own his business, when he spotted a familiar figure clad in red and black milling around a dumpster. 

Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach and made him see a flash of red. He backtracked with the full intention of kicking Deadpool’s ass, then dragging him to the docks, and literally tossing him on the first boat leaving America. 

Deadpool must have heard Peter’s approach because he glanced up suddenly. He gave a little yelp before jumping into the dumpster and slamming the lid closed behind him. 

Peter hit the pavement running. 

“Deadpool!” Peter yelled, “Get out of here!”

“I think I’ll stay in here till you’ve had time to calm down.” Replied Deadpool's muffled voice.

“Get out here!” Peter demanded.

“Don’t think I will.” Deadpool called back.

Peter growled and throw a punch into the dumpster, leaving a fist sized dent in the metal. 

Deadpool yelped again.

“I will drop this entire metal box into the ocean with you in it.” Peter threatened. 

“Wait!” Deadpool screamed. He sprung up, knocking the lid off the top. “I’m not a good swimmer and I'm afraid of sharks!”

“Deadpool!” Peter’s fury faltered when he took in Deadpool’s whole ragged appearance. “Are-Are you alright?” Peter couldn't help but ask.

Deadpool’s suit was scuffed and falling apart at the seams. And was it Peter’s imagination or was it actually hanging more loosely upon Deadpool’s once muscular frame. 

“Me? Always, sweet boy, but it is kind of you to ask.”

“It’s just-“Peter motioned at Deadpool. “You look awful.” 

Deadpool gasped indignantly, “Well, I never.” He said in a southern accent.

“Wait . . . why are you here? In this alley. . .” 

“Is this not what true New Yorkers' do? That man at the brochure booth lied to me!” Deadpool climbed out of the dumpster, to stand level with Peter.

That’s when Peter realized where they were. They were standing in an alley behind a Chinese’s restaurant.

Deadpool's stomach roared with hunger. 

“Are you dumpster diving for food?” Peter asked with a mixture of disgust and pity. 

Deadpool chose not to answer. 

“Deadpool?” Peter pressed. 

“Yeah, well you know, beggars can’t be choosers.” Deadpool toed an empty can. “I’m currently sorting out a little cash flow problem.”

“Oh, do you need some-“Peter offered.

Deadpool waved Peter’s offer away. “That wasn’t me asking for money. I have a little more pride than that.”

Peter couldn’t help feel a little relieved. He didn’t really have any money he could spare, not with rent, college tuition, books, taking Mary Jane on a date this Friday, and food.

“Besides,” Deadpool continued. “My money problems should sort themselves out in the next couple of days. My last client’s check just has to clear, then I’ll be out of your town. I promise. Cross my heart," Deadpool traced an 'x' over his chest with an index finger. 

Peter looked at Deadpool's emaciated form again. “When is the last time you had something to eat? Dumpster food doesn’t count.” 

Deadpool moved away from the dumpster to sit on some wooden crates nearby. “After the dinner rush is over, I’ll have Kung Pao Chicken for days!” He exclaimed joyfully. 

“I just said dumpster food doesn’t count.” Peter frowned. Peter couldn't help feeling queasy as the wind changed directions and the smell from the dumpster wafted up and hit him in the face. 

“Then I don’t know.” Deadpool confessed. “Sometime before we met.”

Peter gaped at him, “That was over three weeks ago!”

“Was it?” Deadpool asked nonplussed. “Time sure flies when you're having fun.”

“Wait here,” Peter ordered. “I’ll be back.” Peter started climbing up the wall.

“Where are you going? You’ll miss the fried rice.” Deadpool whined. 

“Gross! Don’t eat that." Peter ordered over his shoulder. " I’ll be back with something better."

"Why are you doing this?" Deadpool asked standing up.

Peter paused mid-climb. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you went from wanting to kick my ass to getting me dinner? I not complaining, I prefer a turkey sandwich to a knuckle sandwich, but why the sudden change of heart?"

Peter shrugged, an impressive fleet while hanging fifteen off the ground, "You look hungry."

"I am." Deadpool nodded fervently.

"You said you'd have cash in a couple days? And then you'll leave New York?" Peter asked.

Deadpool nodded again.

"I don't see why you have to starve till then." Peter said continuing his climb.

“My hero!” was the last thing Peter heard Deadpool say before he climbed over the top of the building and shot a web into the distance. 

Peter quickly climbed into his apartment through the unlocked window, raided the contents of his fridge; to his delight he found a box with a half-eaten cheese pizza and sports drink inside. He gathered the food and drink into a plastic grocery bag and climbed back out the window. 

Within a short few minutes he was back at the alley he had left Deadpool in, except. . . there was no Deadpool to be found. 

Peter dropped the plastic bag in bewilderment, spilling the contents everywhere, as he landed on the pavement. The dumpster, Deadpool had used as a temporary safe-haven from Peter, was on ablaze. The crates, Deadpool had been sitting on, were obliterated. All that was left was a pile of splinters. There was violent scorch marks on the walls and something that look suspiciously similar to blood splattered all over the pavement. 

Peter took a step tentative step forward but withdrew quickly when his foot landed on something soft. Peter glanced down and saw the plushy of a unicorn, once white, now marred with red. 

“Deadpool!” Peter called into the night. "Deadpool?" He called louder, desperately. 

There was no answer.


	3. I didn’t decapitate everyone

Peter combed the city for any sign of Deadpool. He was about to give up when Peter spotted Deadpool from afar. He swung down and landed on the pavement behind the Merc with a mouth.

"Hey. I was worried. What happened?" Peter asked.

Deadpool pivoted on his feet with his sword drawn overhead, ready to strike. 

Peter leapt backwards and instinctively took a defensive stance. 

Deadpool was breathing heavily, murder in his eyes. "Spidey?" He asked as though he couldn't believe it was really him. 

"Yeah, its me." Peter said slowly. "What happened?" 

"Oh Spidey," He repeated, before lowering his sword slowly. "Its not what it looks like I swear!" he panicked.

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked but that's when Peter saw it. There was a pile of human bodies stacked knee high in the alley, several of them missing their heads. Peter pulled up his mask to the bridge of his nose and was immediately sick. After emptying the entire contents of his stomach onto the pavement, Peter wiped the vomit off his chin, "What have you done!?" 

"I can explain, just give me a chance." Deadpool pleaded.

"You can't explain this!" Peter yelled. "There is no explanation for this." 

"But there is!" Deadpool yelled at Peter. "Where are you going?" 

"To get the police, or a psychologist because I think you're sick. You can’t decapitate people.” Peter was horrified. He started moving down the alley with Deadpool trailing behind him.

“I didn’t decapitate everyone,” Deadpool countered. “I shot a few of them. Did you see me use that trashcan lid on one of them too? Just like, Cap; except is was a trash lid.” 

Peter felt like it was a pointless endeavor to get Deadpool to see that killing was morally wrong. It was like arguing with a child, a homicidal child. 

“That’s not the point!” Spider-Man shouted. His patience had flown out the window. He took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned around, expecting to see Deadpool right behind him. He was surprised when he saw the Merc with a mouth moving at a lead-footed pace on the other side of the alley. 

"They weren't humans, Spidey." Deadpool leaned down and pick up a severed limb. Peter could feel bile climbing up his throat again. Deadpool pulled back the skin to reveal not flesh and bone but rather coils of wires, bolts, and screws. "I didn't break your rule." Deadpool reassured him as he dropped the limb and kicked it towards the pile of other body parts. 

"They're robot?" 

"Appears that way," Deadpool nodded. 

"But why?" Peter was perplexed. "A robot army, that looks human? What is the point? What the shit is going on?" 

Deadpool looked up from the pavement and gave a blasé shrug. "I don't know." 

Peter gritted his teeth in frustration. Deadpool had to know more then he was letting on, after all none of this craziness had started happening till he arrived. Peter and was about to press Deadpool further but he stopped when he noticed the blood. There was copious amounts of the sticky red stuff pouring out of the left side of Deadpool’s abdomen. The Merc’s right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle at the elbow. Peter’s stomach did a somersault as he couldn’t help imagining all the torn ligament, shredded tendon, and crushed bones that would have had to occur for his elbow to appear like that. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to stare? It isn’t polite, Spidey.” Deadpool playfully tittered at him. 

“What happened?” Peter rushed to his side. He grabbed onto his uninjured left arm to steady Deadpool, who had started to sway dangerously. 

“I don’t know if you remember, but I was in a fight a short while ago.” Deadpool said earnestly. 

“I know that, you idiot.” 

“Oh, good I thought maybe you took a blow to the head when I wasn’t paying attention. . .” Deadpool voice faded away as he leaned into Peter. 

Peter gave him a soft shake. “Are you still with me?” 

“I haven’t slept in a while. . .” Deadpool replied sleepily. He shook his head like a water logged puppy before he spoke again. “As soon as my healing factors kicks in I’ll be right as rain.” He stated brightly yet without the level of pep Peter had seen in him earlier. 

There was a flash of lightening and a clap of thunder before torrents of rain began splashing down on them. 

“That’s ironic,” Peter muttered up at the sky. 

“This writer’s a dick,” Deadpool said under his breath. “Come on! We don’t have to go for every cliché. Are you trying to create a 'moment' or something?" 

“What’d you say?” Peter inclined his head toward Deadpool. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” 

Peter decided not to press the subject. It was probably the blood loss talking, anyway. Or maybe it was Deadpool just being Deadpool. Peter had done some researched on him after their first meeting, apparently Deadpool was famous for his bouts of insanity. 

“I just need a place to rest for a while.” Deadpool swept his gaze back and forth across the alley. “Be a doll and help me over to that wall.” 

“You are not sleeping out here.” Peter said incredulously. “What if more of those robot things come back?” 

“I don’t think they will.” Deadpool yawned. “Plus the last time I checked cabs drivers and hotel clerks get touché when you can’t pay the bill. It just isn’t worth the headache. I already have anyway.” 

Peter didn’t have any cash on him either. He didn’t exactly make the Spider-Man suit with any pockets, although right now he kind of wished he had. 

He glanced at Deadpool to the dirty patch of pavement he had indicated. Peter didn’t like the idea of leaving Deadpool alone in such a venerable state but he couldn’t take him to his apartment. That would seriously compromise the whole 'secret identity' thing. 

“I’ll be fine, Spidey. This won’t be the shadiest place I’ve laid to rest.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“H.I.V positive.” He winked. 

It still didn’t sit right with Peter especially after the man had saved his life, three weeks earlier, but if Deadpool insisted he would be alright who was he to disagree. He let go of his hold on Deadpool’s arm. Almost immediately Deadpool swayed and nearly toppled over sideways before Peter grabbed onto his arm again. 

Deadpool groaned loudly. 

That made up Peter’s mind. From what he had heard and seen Deadpool wasn’t a saint but there was no way on earth that he could in good conscience leave a wounded man alone and unprotected in the rain. 

It was then that Peter came up with a plan. It was a stupid and rushed plan but its all his brain could come up with on the spur of the moment. He would use Peter Parker's as a mask to keep his alter ego's identity a secret. 

It was common knowledge that Peter Parker was Spider-Man unofficial photographer, so there was no dangerous reveal there. All Peter would really have to do would be to convince Deadpool that the relationship between Peter Parker and Spider-Man was strictly businesses. He would keep the two lives rigidly separate, which he did on a regular basis anyway. This spur of the moment plan might just work out. 

Peter took a moment to muse how very odd it was that he was using his own face as a mask to obscure Spider-Man. It was a strange reversal. 

“Come on,” Peter said pulling Deadpool’s left arm over his shoulder, taking half his weight. 

“What are you doing?” Deadpool mumbled. “My blood his going to ruin your beautiful Spidey suit.” 

“I’ll send you a dry cleaning bill.” Peter said sarcastically. “I'm going to take you to my business associates apartment. Can you make it seven blocks?” 

Deadpool didn’t answer straight away. Peter wasn’t sure if he had heard him and was about to ask again when Deadpool nodded once. 

“Okay, let’s go.” And at a slow pace the two walked out of the alley and in the direction of Peter’s apartment. Luckily, they didn’t run into anyone but it probably helped that they were walking home at 3:30 in the morning in a heavy rainstorm. 

Every once and a while, Peter would chance a glance in Deadpool’s direction. Deadpool’s head was lolling side to side in a way that concerned Peter. 

“We’re almost there.” Spider-Man said as they turned the last corner before his apartment building. 

“We’re almost where?” Deadpool asked, slurring his words. 

“My associates apartment. Don’t you remember?” 

Deapool shook his head. “But I am very tired.” 

“When we get inside you can sleep.” 

“That would be nice.” Deadpool hummed. “By the way my name is Wade Wilson.” 

Peter faltered in his step. The sudden misstep jarred Wade painfully. He hissed through his teeth. “Why are you telling me this?” Peter asked uncertainly. 

“You’re taking me to your friend's home." 

"Business associates." Peter corrected him. 

"Still, I thought I should show a sign of good will. You don’t have to tell me your name.” 

Peter didn’t.

"Are you sure he won't mind?" 

"Parker? Nah. I let him take all the free pictures he wants of me, the least he can do is give up his couch for the night." 

"Why do you let him take photos of you?" Wade asked groggily. 

"Kid is a space cadet but he has talent. Its a win, win. I never get a unflattering photo and he gets to make money off my image." 

"Like you could ever take a bad photo." Wade whispered, under his breath. 

Peter could feel his cheeks burning. He was very glad he was wearing a mask.


	4. Still There?

Peter wasn’t worried about them being captured on any security footage. His apartment wasn’t exactly in a nice neighborhood. It was all he could afford on journalists salary while attending college. 

He silently prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone on their way up to Peter’s floor. There was no one in the lobby. Peter gave a sigh of relief. Peter then guided Wade to the elevator. The elevator doors slide open to relieve . . . no one. 

Another sigh of relief. He punched the button to his floor several time before the elevator doors rattled shut. 

Once they were on Peter’s floor and the elevator door opened, he stuck his head out. It seemed like Peter’s prayers had been answered. The hallway lights flickered. A few cockroaches crawled on the walls but there was no sign of his neighbors. Not even Miss Haley; an incredibly nosy women who lived in the apartment next to his. 

He half carried, half dragged Wade over to his apartment’s door. Peter struggled to grab to the key he kept hidden behind one of the flickering hall light with Wade leaning so heavily on him. He tried to keep his hold on Wade while rising to his tiptoes and using his free arm to feel for the key. Just as one hand curled around the key his grip on Wade slipped. 

“Timber,” Wade said before falling as stiff as a board to stained carpets with a loud thump. 

“Are you okay?” Peter said frantically. 

Wade groaned painfully and gave Peter the thumbs up. 

“I’m sorry. My grip slipped, you’re kind of heavy.” 

“Are you calling me fat?” Wade asked indignantly. “You’re fat.” 

“I’m not.” Peter snapped back without conscious thought. 

“You’re right. You’re perfect.” Wade purred playfully after looking Peter up and down. 

Peter laughed despite himself. He found Deadpool disturbing, strange, and (dare he say it?) oddly charming. He decided to dissect that idea later, right now he shut up when he heard footsteps and the doorknob of Miss Haley’s apartment began to rattle. Peter jammed the key into the lock, twisted it, and threw the door open. He then grabbed Wade by the ankles and quickly dragged him inside. A trail of blood was left in his wake, thankfully the carpet was already so stained, Peter seriously doubted anyone would notice it. 

“Shit! Not so rough,” Wade protested. 

Peter then yanked the key out of the lock, shut the door as quickly and as quietly as he could. Peter held his breath. He could hear the creaking of someone moving just outside the door. Miss Haley paused outside his door for a second before moving back toward her own apartment. 

“That was close.” Peter said more to himself than Wade. 

Wade hadn’t moved since being dragged into Peter’s apartment. 

Had he passed out? Peter tiptoed around Wade’s legs and kneeled down by his torso. Wade’s left side was bleeding significantly less than it had been before, though it was still oozing big, fat droplets of blood. They collected in a shallow pool on Peter’s titled floor. Wade’s elbow was still horrifically mangled. It made Peter sick to look at. Instead, Peter turned his attention to Wade’s head. He tapped Wade’s cheek gently. “You still there?” 

“Still here.” Wade repeated hollowly. 

“You’re healing factor is slow as hell.” Peter pointed out, unhelpfully. 

“Do I insult your super powers?” Wade fend being insulted. 

“I just thought it would be on pare with Wolverine’s?” Peter shrugged. 

“They usually are.” 

“Then what’s going on?” 

“It’s been a long, long couple of months.” Wade closed his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I had a real meal and I knew I haven’t slept since before that. So you can imagine. . .” 

“Hey! Don’t fall asleep here.” 

Wade huffed and forced his eyes open. 

"Parker has a couch. You’ll be more comfortable there. Its five feet away.” 

“That sounds like five feet too far.” Wade whined. 

“Once you’re there, you never have to move again.” Peter said standing up and extending a hand down to Wade. 

“You promise. I can lay there till mushroom grow out of my ears?” 

“Scout’s honor.” Peter raised his other hand, curling his pinky to his thumb. 

Wade huffed again and grabbed onto Peter’s extended hand. With a painful whimper he allowed himself to be yanked up and guided to the couch. 

Peter lowered Wade down as gently as he could onto the lumpy cushions. When Wade was situated with a pillow tucked under his head and a ratty blanket pulled up to his hips, Peter went to go retrieve the first aid kit that was tucked behind the cereal boxes. When he returned he found Wade asleep. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Wade’s chest. He studied the long limbs and lean muscles; before he remembered the first aid kit clutched in his hands. He knelt beside the couch and carefully, so not to disturb Wade, he cut what was left of the shredded costume around the sight of the wound on Wade’s left side. The laceration perforated deep into Wade’s abdomen. Peter could actually see coils of pink intestine. He almost vomited. This wound was extremely savage. It appeared to be inflicted by some kind of animal. This was way beyond Peter’s capabilities. This guy needed a hospital. 

Peter grabbed his cell phone off the counter. He dialed 911, but paused before pressing the call button. For the second time in as many hours, Peter was having a moral dilemma. Should he call for the help Wade so desperately needed. Risking Wade going to prison and risk someone discovering his own secret identity? Or not call and risk Wade dying? 

“Spidey,” Wade whispered. 

Peter looked up from the screen on his cell phone. 

Wade was eyeing the phone in Peter’s hands wearily. “Don’t. They’ll find me. . .” 

Was Peter imagining it, or was Wade’s voice laced with fear. 

“Who? Who will find you?” 

Yet, Wade didn’t answer, he had fallen unconscious again. 

Peter’s finger hovered over the call button for a moment longer before he replaced the cell phone of the counter. Wade’s plea was too potent to ignore. 

He pick up the first aid kit again and tried his very best to sterilize the wound and cover it with clean dressing. Next, he moved on to the broken elbow. Peter wasn’t sure how to splint an elbow joint, he tried to a line it in an anatomical position, so not to impede circulation. Then he wrapped it in dry sterile dressing and placed ice packs on either side of the break, making sure to remove them and replacing them every twenty minutes. 

After removing the ice packs a final time. Peter found himself unable to stay awake. He tucked his arms under his head and lay one ankle over the other. Within minutes he has drifted off on the floor, within arm’s reach of the sleeping Wade. As he fell into an uneasy sleep the question ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ echoed in his head.


	5. An Eye Full

The sliver of light was peaking through the curtains and hitting Peter directly in the face. 

Peter looked around groggily. 

Had he fallen asleep wearing his mask again? 

Why was he on the floor? 

Peter looked up and saw Wade Wilson laying unconscious on the couch. 

Oh right, now he remembered the events of last night. 

Peter rolled onto his left side and slowly got to his feet. He winced. His back was killing him, courtesy on the hard wood floor. 

He bent over Wade and carefully peeled back the bandage on Wade's side. There was a rather nasty looking scab but at least Peter couldn't see his organs any more. Wade's elbow looked less swollen too. Wade was on the mend however slow it may be. Peter felt a wave of relief. He had had several nightmares during the night of waking up to find Wade's corpse in his apartment. 

Peter tapped Wade on the shoulder a few times but got no reaction. Wade did say he hadn't slept in a long time. He must be exhausted. 

Peter sighed and shrugged. It was then Peter caught a foul stench. He tentatively raised his arm and sniffed his armpit. He drew back quickly. He smelled like a pile of hot garbage. 

He desperately wanted to shower. To wash away the dirt, grim, and blood from yesterday. 

Yet, he couldn't risk it; could he? 

Wade could wake up before he was finished and started snooping around. He could discovered Spider-Man and Peter were one in the same. 

Oh but Peter was so very itchy, he smelled terrible, and the warm water would soothe the muscles in his back. 

Peter cast a weary look down at the sleeping Wade.

"Screw it," Peter said under his breath as he walked into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. He took off his Spidey suit and stored it in vents above the door. 

The warm water on Peter's aching body was nothing short of heavenly. By the time he was finished showering, his muscles had relaxed significantly. He could now take in a full breath without his ribs hurting. 

He turned off the water and stepped onto the bathroom mat. He groped in the heavy fog for a towel, which he couldn't find. Peter groaned and buried his head in his hands. He had forgotten to grab a towel from the linen closest which was on the opposite side of his apartment. He would have to walk right past Wade to get to them. 

He desperately rummaged around for anything that he use to dry off. He found nothing. He would have used the Spider-Man suit but it was covered in Wade's blood, hardly hygienic. 

Peter sighed heavily, there was nothing for it. He would have to make a run for it. Hopefully, Wade was still sleeping. 

Peter cracked the door open. Steam billowed out into the rest of the apartment. He couldn't see Wade from his angle. 

He pulled the door open a little further and stuck his head out. Now he could see Wade's chest rise and fall in the deep rhythm of sleep. 

He tentatively stuck out one foot then the other. 

Wade slept on. 

Peter tiptoed across the room towards the linen closest. 

He reached the door to the closest and as quietly as he could twisted the knob and pulled. The door gave an audible creak. Peter stiffened and turned around. 

Wade did not stir. 

Peter grabbed a fluffy towel off the top shelf. 

"Good morning," came Wade's voice, husky and thick with sleep. 

Peter jumped clean into the air in sheer surprise. He knocked the towel off the shelf as he spun around. 

"Good morning," Wade repeated now fully awake as he took in Peter's 'whole' appearance. 

Peter blushed bright red. He fumbled to pick up the fallen towel. 

When Peter straightened, the towel was wrapped firmly around his hips. 

Wade had covered his eyes with his hands out of respect for his modesty, Peter supposed. 

"You must be Peter Parker," Wade said with his vision still obscured by his hands. "I'm Wade Wilson. I didn't mean to scare you. Spider-Man brought me here last night. I hope he had time to explain the circumstances before he left to go do. . .whatever heroes to when they aren't working." 

"Um, yeah, yeah-yes" Peter stuttered. "He explained everything." 

"Oh good, that makes things a little less awkward." Wade laughed. When his laughter died away he said, "I'll be out of your hair as soon as my legs decide to cooperate with me." 

"You can't move your legs?" Peter asked considerately. 

"Oh no, not yet," Wade answered nonplussed. 

Wade still had his hands wrapped over his eyes. Wade's continually shielding his eyes made Peter suddenly very aware that he was still just wearing a towel. 

"Give me a second." Peter rushed off to his bedroom, making sure the towel wasn't going to fall off. He slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. 

"Take your time." Wade called after him, eyes still covered.


	6. You Rang?

Peter slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it behind him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was sopping wet and still bright red from embarrassment. 

"Oh God!" Peter groaned as he buried his head in his hands. 

He couldn't believe Wade Wilson, lunatic assassin, had just seen him Au natural. 

Peter was pretty sure "not exposing" oneself constituted the literal sense as well as the figurative. 

He groaned again. He was never going to live this down. 

After a few minutes Peter's red blush faded to his normal color. 

Paranoid Peter double checked that the door was locked before toweling off and pulling on clothes. 

He hesitated with his hand hovering just over the doorknob. 

Maybe it wasn't that bad? Maybe Wade hadn't seen as much as Peter feared he had? 

Peter snorted. Who was he kidding? Unless, Wade had somehow become temporary blind in the last hour, he had seen everything. 

Peter took in a deep breath. Well, what was done could not be undone. Time to face the music. He put his hand on the doorknob, twisted it, and pulled the door open. 

"Wade, I-I--" Peter started, blushing anew, but stuttered to a stop when he saw that Wade had fallen asleep again. 

Peter couldn't help a sigh a relief escaping his mouth. He hadn't really wanted to confront the issue of Wade seeing him in the raw, at that moment anyway (or any other moment, for that matter). 

Unsure what to do now, Peter walked over to the kitchen, pick up his cell, and flipped through the messages. One missed call from Aunt May, two missed calls from Jameson (probably to demand new Spider-Man pictures), and five missed calls for Mary-Jane. Five missed calls? Peter knew Mary-Jane to be the talkative type but that seemed excessive even for her. 

Wait, what time was it?! Peter panicked. He looked at his wrist watch. It was one twenty. He smacked his face with his palm. 

He had had a lunch date with Mary-Jane that had started forty-five minutes ago. 

Shit! What was wrong with him! First he had forgot a towel and now Mary-Jane?! 

He quickly dialed Mary-Jane. It rung several times before she picked up. 

"Mary-Jane, I am so sorry." 

"Peter are you okay?" Mary-Jane frantically. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." 

"I was worried. I mean you typically cancel but you usually call first." She said with a sulky note in her voice. 

Peter felt a stab of guilt. 

"I know. I am really sorry." He cast a quick glance at the sleeping Wade. "Something came up I couldn't ignore and I lost track of time." 

Mary-Jane huffed on the other end. 

Peter chewed his thumb nail nervously. 

"Peter, I love you but I think we need to talk." 

Peter gulped. Everyone knew 'we need to talk' was code for 'break up.' It was a unwritten rule. 

"Let me make it up to you!" Peter all but pleaded. 

"How?" Mary-Jane huffed again. 

Honestly, Peter had no idea. He was stripped for cash, so anything extravagant was out of the question. "Its a surprise but I promise you'll love it." He would figure out the details later. 

There was only silence coming from the other end of the line. 

"I know I haven't been there for you lately. I know I keep letting you down but please believe me when I say, you are the most important thing in my life and I'll work harder to prove it to you. Please MJ. I love you." 

Another moment of silence before Mary-Jane answered, "Saturday at 7?" 

Today was Sunday, that gave him almost a full week to come up with a plan wow' MJ. 

Peter beamed. "Its a date. And MJ?" 

"Yes?" 

"I won't let you down this time." Peter said and meant it. 

"Goodbye Peter." Mary-Jane said and hung up. 

Peter looked at MJ's picture on his cell phone screen before placing it back on the counter. He was tired of disappointing MJ again and again. He didn't know why she hadn't kicked him to the curb long before this (although, he was eternally grateful she hadn't). 

Wonderful, sweet, funny, beautiful, perfect Mary-Jane. She really did deserved better. 

Wade shifted on the couch slightly, drawing Peter's eye and pulling him away from thinking about his girlfriend. 

Now back to the problem at hand; getting Wade Wilson back on his feet and out of his apartment, then he would figure out how to win back the heart of the women he loved.


	7. This is Concerning

Peter picked up a magazine and sat by the window. He started reading an article about bio mechanics as he patiently waited for Wade to wake.

After he read the magazine cover to cover, he pulled out his computer and replied to a few emails. He surfed the web for a few hours, trying to get romantic date ideas for MJ, off of websites like tumblr or pinterest, he found a couple of promising prospects; his favorite being the terrace picnic, which included dozens of flowers, homemade paper lanterns, Italian food, and chilled champagne. It would be perfect, if only he could figure out how to make the paper lanterns from scratch. It couldn't be that difficult, could it? 

Following his hunt for romantic date ideas, Peter began to grow restless. He wandered around his apartment, tidying up and organizing and reorganizing various nick-knacks. 

It had been several hours since the ' nude incident' that afternoon and Wade still hadn't woken up. 

Now that Peter thought about it, he hadn't seen Wade move in quite a long time. Wade hadn't snored, coughed, or even shifted to get comfortable. Peter narrowed his eyes, focusing on Wade's chest. As far as he could tell it wasn't rising or falling. 

A rush of panic grabbed Peter. Wade wasn't breathing! 

"Deadpool?" Peter asked as he shook Wade's shoulder. 

No response. 

"Wade Wilson?" Peter asked again, his voice climbing. 

Again no response. 

"Don't do this to me!" Peter frantically yelled as he lifted Wade's upper body and shook him violently. "Wake up!" 

"Not so rough." Wade groaned pathetically. 

"Gawd!" Peter gasped. He released his hold on Wade. 

Wade's body fell back onto the couch. His head smacking the armrest, which had little padding, with a sharp thud. Wade groaned again. 

"I thought-I was afraid-it didn't look like you were breathing," Peter spluttered. "I'm sorry." 

Wade sat up slowly, painfully. He rubbed the back of his head were it had smacked the armrest. "What time is it?" 

"I don't know, eight?" Peter answered. 

Wade stopped rubbing his head and looked at Peter intensely. 

Peter wondered if Wade was recalling seeing him in hid birthday suit earlier. He felt his cheeks burning. 

"I'm a little fuzzy. Have we met before?" 

"Are-are you serious?" 

"I'm sorry," Wade said sincerely. He glanced at the couch, the rumpled covers, and Peter standing over him. "Did we sleep together?" 

Peter whole face was a bright red now. 

Wade put a hand to his temple, "I really wish I could remember. I mean," he looked Peter up and down, "who wouldn't want the memory of sleeping with you burned into their mind's eye forever. You're damn fine. A 10. A total babe-" 

"We did not sleep together!" Peter interrupted Wade. 

"Oh," Wade sighed. He looked up at Peter's face and wiggled his eyebrows, "Do you want to?" 

"No!" Peter snapped. 

Wade shrugged, "Either way works for me, I'm easy." 

"Apparently so." Peter grumbled. 

There was a beat of silence before Wade caught the joke and burst into laughter. "Beautiful and funny! You are the total package." 

"Spider-Man brought you here last night after he found you bleeding in an ally." Peter shouted over Wade's laughter. 

Wade's laughter died in his throat. 

"You passed out and have been unconscious ever since." Peter continued. 

"That's starting to rings a bell. And you are Spider-Man's photographer." 

"Unofficial photographer," Peter corrected him. He folded his arms over his chest. 

"Right, Peter. . ." 

"Parker," Peter filled in. "And you're Wade Wilson." 

"Right and I have been unconscious for several hours. . ." Wade trailed off. "Thank you for your hospitality but I have to go." He was suddenly on his feet. The movement was so abrupt and unexpected that Peter actually flinched. Yet, once Wade was on his feet he swayed dangerously. Peter grabbed his shoulders and gently guided him back down onto the couch. 

"Aren't you healed yet?" Peter asked bewildered. 

"I should be fine by now." Wade's voice was laced with confusion and anxiety. "It's never taken this long before. I've grow back whole limbs faster than this. I don't understand." 

Something tugged at the back of Peter's mind. He placed one finger softly on the blood soaked bandages wrapped around Wade's side. Wade winced from the pain caused by the touch. 

Peter drew his hand away and studied the trace amounts of blood left on his finger pad. He brought it to his nose a sniffed. There was something there beside the copper sent that blood usually had. It smelled sour. 

"I think whoever attacked you put something in your bloodstream. Whatever it is, is apparently slowing your healing abilities." 

"What could do that?" Wade was discombobulated. 

"I don't know. I could run a few tests at my college's lab." 

"How long will it take to get out of my system?" Wade frowned. 

"Well, that depends what chemicals were used. My best guess would be twenty-four to forty-eight hours." 

Wade struggled to get to his feet again. Peter laid a hand on his chest to keep him down. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Peter asked. 

Wade tried to push Peter's hand away but he was just too weak, "I have to go. It's not safe to be around me. They're still after me." 

"Who is after you? What do they want?" Peter questioned. 

"Very bad people and me." Wade answered cryptically. 

"Fine, don't tell me." Peter sighed. 

Peter pushed Wade back until he was laying flat on his back. He grabbed the discarded covers off the floor and tucked them around Wade's body. 

"If these people are as bad as you're making them out to be you won't stand a chance in your current condition. Sleep the stuff off. Then you can leave; until then you'll be safe." 

"But you won't be," Wade argued. 

"I'm tougher than I look, plus Spider-Man won't let anything happen to me. I make the Web-Head look good. He can't afford not to keep me around." 

Wade sat up again. Peter immediately pushed him back down. 

"Stop being so stubborn!" 

"Why are you doing this?" Wade asked earnestly. "You don't even know me." Wade hung his head. "I'm not a good person. I've done terrible things." 

Peter chewed his lip for a second. Why was he helping Wade over and over? Whatever Wade was tangled up in seemed extremely dangerous and apparently Wade had done things that would make the devil himself cringe, so why was he helping him? 

"Because," Peter said, "You need help and I am in the position to give it. So when you think about it, isn't it my responsibility?" 

"Beauty, funny, and heroic." Wade whispered, "I can't put something so rare in danger." 

Peter adopted a stern tone of voice, "Look. I'm no push over. I might not have any super powers but I think I could take you right now. You're weaker than a kitten." 

"I was taken down by a bunch of pussy. . .cats," Wade yawned despite himself. The fight was going out of him, replaced by exhaustion. Peter could see Wade's eyes slowly closing shut. "Are you sure we didn't sleep together?" Wade groggily asked. 

"Yes!" Peter replied exasperated. 

"Huh," Wade rolled onto his uninjured side. "I could have sworn I saw you naked."


End file.
